


When You're Strange

by yrthroat



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Magical Realism, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrthroat/pseuds/yrthroat
Summary: As Shane got older, he realized it was best for him to just stay in his lane and mind his own business. No drama, no nonsense, and best of all: nobody bothered him in return.So why in the world did he decide to visit the old farm that day? Why didn't he just go to the lake to drink some beers and try to wind down?What has he gotten himself into?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes some creative liberties to turn the canonical world of Stardew Valley into something a bit more mundane and less obviously magical. Magic still exists in this world, but it is not as apparent--no monsters in the mines, no wizards in towers, etc.
> 
> Also, this is the first time I'm posting my writing... anywhere! I hope you all enjoy this self-indulgent little fic.

Wake up at 6 am.

Mentally kick myself for drinking too much last night. Never learn my lesson. Get up, get dressed (work clothes are on the ground where they were dropped yesterday), debate putting on deodorant, give in and do so to avoid Morris’ wrath. Go to the bathroom. Debate brushing my teeth. Opt against it because I hate the taste of beer and minty toothpaste together. Peel my eyes away from my toothbrush and look at myself in the mirror.

Ugh.

Take a piss, wander into the kitchen, pray Marnie doesn’t question why she didn’t hear the sink turn on after I flushed the toilet. Hear she’s still in her bedroom—coast is clear. Open the fridge, grab a slice of pot pie from last night’s dinner. Shove it in my mouth as I go back to my room and reach under my bed. Grab a can of precious, disgusting, cheap beer. Crack it open (quietly) and take sips between finishing the piece of pot pie. Finish the beer, feel my legs get a little loose, feel the morning become a bit more tolerable.

Leave my room, say bye to Marnie (“Goodbye, Shane!” she proclaims, “Have a nice day at work!”), slip on my shoes, leave the house, and make my way into town.

Different day, same endless bullshit.


	2. In His Own World (Seriously, Who's Emmanuel?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shane has a searing question.

“Did you hear that the farm up north has been bought?” Marnie asked Shane as they stood in the kitchen. Marnie was tending to a stove full of different foods. Sunday dinners were always special in this house. “Or no, not bought,” she corrected herself, “The person moving in there inherited it. From Emmanuel.”

 _Emmanuel?_ Shane thought as he leaned his back against the fridge, staring at the ground, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He felt his eyebrows crease. _Who the fuck is Emmanuel?_

He could hear Marnie continuing to chatter as he wracked his brain for who that could be. Shane spent a lot of time in Stardew Valley as a kid, going between living with his mom in Zuzu to the country during the summers. He was grateful that Marnie was willing to open her doors to him well after his childhood, when he was older and out of a career and desperate for help after his prospects, and finances, ran dry.

Wait, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right, Emmanuel.

Who the fuck is Emmanu-

“Shane!” He was plucked out of his train of thought (if you could even call it that) upon hearing his name, snapping his head up, his eyebrows still in a confused crease. “Goodness, Shane, did you even hear a word I said?”

Shane averted his eyes to the side, his eyebrows raised a bit now, “Uh…” he let slip a bit more unsure than he would have liked, “The farm…?”

Marnie sighed and shook her head, turning back to the stove to mix a bubbling concoction, “I swear, Shane, you’re always in your own little world.”

Well, she’s not totally wrong. Depression, anxiety, and alcoholism will do that to you. Plus not knowing who the fuck Emmanuel is.

“Anyway,” she said. This time he looked at her, actually paying attention, “She should be moving into the farm in a few days. I think Lewis said by this weekend? So, we should be good neighbors and stop by to say hello, see if she needs help, maybe bring a pie.” She turned her head over her shoulder to glance at him, “Or did you ignore me that time, too?”

“No, no, I heard you,” Shane grumbled, his eyes casting to the ground.

“Good!” Marnie proclaimed enthusiastically as she placed a lid on a pot. Shane had no idea what she’s been cooking this whole time, but it smells good. “From what Lewis told me, farm life isn’t something she’s experienced in, so I’m sure she’ll appreciate all the help she can get.” Marnie turned to face him, her hands on her hips. Shane could feel her eyes on him critically, her expression changing to something a bit hesitant and lovingly worried. He could feel that he was being examined, now. That particular conversation at hand was over—it was time for some scrutiny.

A sad smile came over Marnie’s face. “Shane, when was the last time you got a good night’s rest?” She asked, concern laced in her voice. He just shut his eyes and sighed, his arms still tense and tight, crossed over his chest. Here we go.

“I couldn’t tell you, Marnie, you know that.” He sighs as he continues to shake his head a bit. His voice is low and gravely. He could feel the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles on his forehead from his face being in a constant scowl, and his once toned and in-shape body holding him down as an oppressive force, a constant reminder of his failed career. He does not need this conversation right now.

Shane lifts himself up from the fridge and starts to head towards the door, “I’m going out. I’ll be back later.”

“Headed to the saloon?” Marnie inquires, a tinge of sadness in her voice. She knows the answer to this question but, surprisingly, she’ll be wrong this time.

“Nah, just going for a walk.” Shane says as he steps outside and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t even particularly care if Marnie heard him or not. What he doesn’t know is that inside, she’s smiling a sad, yet hopeful, smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love The Doors. Their songs feel so... magical and weird. So, naturally, I wanted to name this fic after something from The Doors.
> 
> Chapters will get longer as I go.


	3. A Squirrel, A Chimpmunk, A Racoon, A...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *mysterious whistling*

The sun was starting to set. Oranges and pinks streaked the sky above Shane as he headed in a new direction today—north. Up north to the farm. The old farm owned by… Emmanuel?

God dammit, who was this guy.

No, wait, not owned by Emmanuel anymore. Owned by someone who inherited it? From Emmanuel?

_I need to start paying attention to these conversations._

The autumn leaves crunched under Shane’s feet as he continued down the narrow path heading up north. Nobody travels this path—or they haven’t in a while—so it hasn’t been maintained. Brush pokes out from the woods, the forest grass has grown out a bit, tree branches that grew too far outward are leaning over the path which would make this walk frustrating for someone taller than Shane to traverse it. He winces at that thought.

“Alright, let’s cool it with the self-loathing tonight.” He grumbles to himself.

From Shane’s knowledge this farm was abandoned for a while, since before he moved in with Marnie four years ago, so none of this property was maintained. He could tell that much as he made his way to where the path ended and the farm began and found nothing but weeds, downed trees ripped up from their roots (likely from all the storms over the years), and no coherent layout. In the far distance he could see a small wood cabin and to the left of the cabin an old, rundown greenhouse.

The sky continued to be a magnificent portrait of pastels. The air felt autumnal—someone had a fireplace going somewhere in the valley—and the crispness felt nice on Shane’s skin. For a brief moment, as he stood overlooking this field of dying trees and overgrown weeds, Shane felt… kind of nice.

Maybe heading up north instead of grabbing some beers and going to the lake was a good idea after all.

That was, until he heard rustling ahead of him.

Shane could feel himself tense up a bit as he looked forward. In the overgrown grasses and weeds, somewhere amidst the fallen trees, something was moving. He just had no idea what it was.

Now normally, something like this wouldn’t freak him out. Rustling in some tall grass? Big deal. He lives in a ranch on the edge of a forest and he takes trips through the woods to get to his favorite spot on the lake all the time. But something about the feeling in the air felt… bad.

It also felt eerily familiar.

*********************************************************************

Shane didn’t like coming to the Valley too much to visit his Aunt Marnie. He had no friends out here, he had to be around stinky animals all day, and he couldn’t play gridball with anyone. It was just him, his aunt, and a bunch of chickens that bit his fingers.

Oh, and Mayor Lewis.

“Do you know about the monsters that live in Cindersap Forest?” Lewis asked Shane one day upon visiting the boy and his aunt during his usual Sunday rounds.

“Monsters aren’t real.” The boy states plainly as he stands on the fence separating him from the cows. He may only be ten years old, but he’s not dumb. Monsters are definitely _not_ real.

“Oh ho! That what you think, now?” Lewis asked with a chuckle. He laced his fingers through his suspenders and turned to face the woods. It was a way away, but it always remained looming in the distance. Now, Shane was not too interested in the forest, much to Marnie’s relief. She would always tell him upon his arrival to the Valley that he should not wander into the woods alone, but he never tried to, nor did he express any desire to. Cindersap just… wasn’t interesting.

Lewis continued, “I wouldn’t doubt it too much, Shane. There are a lot of things in this world we can’t explain.”

Shane side-eyed the old man and then looked back to the cows, leaning his chin in his arms that rested across the fencing.

“Science can explain everything.” Shane stated.

Lewis threw his head back and let out a loud belly laugh. Shane rolled his eyes and looked away. Stupid old man.

“Oh Shane, always the rational one.” Lewis commented, “Well then, let me say this,” He leaned back against the fence and looked at the boy, “During the new moon tonight—you know which one that is, right? When the moon is gone—stand right here,” Lewis points to the ground, “And look straight into the forest,” he then points ahead, “And tell me what you see. I’m sure you’ll be convinced, my boy!”

Lewis laughed again as he slapped Shane’s back—a bit too hard—and stepped away to poke his head into Marnie’s house to let her know he was leaving.

As the old man walked away, Shane sighed and hopped off the fence. Yeah, right, what is he gonna see on a new moon in the woods? A whole bunch of darkness? No thanks.

*********************************************************************

Back in the present, Shane is a bit more unsettled than he’d ever like to admit.

 _Don’t freak out,_ Shane thinks to himself. It’s probably just a squirrel. Or a chipmunk. Hell, it could even be a racoon. No big deal, nothing to be concerned about.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

The rustling was appearing to grow closer, though he couldn’t make out where exactly it was.

_No big deal, it’s probably nothing._

The sun is starting to set more and more now. The pinks and oranges of the sky are turning into violets and dark blues. He can see less and less in front of him as the sun descends in the horizon.

The rustling gets even closer, now. The wind is still, and the crispness of the air turns a bit frigid. His nose feels cold.

*********************************************************************

“Why is Lewis a liar?” Shane asked Marnie at the dinner table. He was picking at some green beans he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about eating. His brows were creased, the ten-year-old currently unaware that this would be a signature expression of his in eighteen years.

“Shane, why would you say something like that?” Marnie asked a bit surprised, “Why do you think Lewis lied to you?”

“Because he did,” he stated matter-of-factly, “He told me there are things in this world we can’t explain, and that I should look at the forest on a new moon, or something like that.”

Marnie sighed and shook her head, a small smile on her face, “Oh Shane. That’s just Mayor Lewis’s sense of humor. He likes to tease people, is all. But that doesn’t make him a liar, sweetie.”

“I guess…” Shane grumbled.

“Good. Now eat your green beans.”

A couple hours later and the sun had fully set. Marnie was in her room reading a book before tucking in for the night. Shane sat in the guest room in his pajamas and stared at the small black-and-white video game console in his hand. He had hit “Game Over” yet again tonight and was growing frustrated.

And Lewis was to blame for his distraction.

Upon glancing out his window, Shane could see it was particularly dark out. A new moon. The tree frogs chirped in the night, creating a symphony of squeaks, chirps, and ribbits. A sound so unusual compared to the car honks, music, and talking of Zuzu City that Shane was used to.

_“There are a lot of things in this world we can’t explain.”_

With a scowl, Shane placed his game down on the bed and stood up, slipping on his sneakers. Curiosity got the best of him, but he just wanted to prove to himself that Lewis was full of it, _as always._

Shane stepped out of his room and peeked around the corner to see Marnie’s light was off, her door was shut, and she was, hopefully, fast asleep. Now was his chance.

Shane tip-toed to the front door and quietly unlocked it, slipping out of the warmth and safety of the house into the cool summer air. Darkness enveloped him as he took a few steps forward and looked around. It wasn’t until Shane started to come to the Valley that he realized how bright Zuzu was—he could barely see the moon back at home in the city, let alone tell you when a new moon was. But here, the moon called the shots once the sun set—not the artificial lights of the buildings and bridges and cell phone towards that marked the city sky.

Goosebumps appeared on Shane’s arms as he took a few more steps forward. He took a guess as to where he and Lewis were standing earlier and turned to the right to face the forest. He couldn’t actually see anything, but he knows where to look.

His hands curled into fists that sat at his sides, Shane stood there, and stared.

_“Look straight into the forest and tell me what you see. I’m sure you’ll be convinced, my boy!”_

“Stupid old man.” Shane muttered under his breath, his teeth chattering a bit. Because he was cold, obviously. Not because he was nervous.

Oh no, not at all.

Several seconds passed in Shane’s staring contest with the darkness and, lo and behold, nothing happened. With a slightly triumphant grin, Shane lifted his chin up and felt proud. Shane: 1, Lewis: 0.

That was, until something in the darkness stared back.

Shane’s grin immediately slipped from his face when he noticed two red lights facing his direction. They were small, but not beady—far away, almost certainly. The air got still, the tree frogs became eerily quiet, and the red lights—eyes—were moving cautiously and deliberately from side-to-side, not breaking contact with Shane.

His breath caught in his throat. His eyes went wide. And then, suddenly, movement.

Before Shane could realize what was happening, the eyes were getting closer to him and Shane’s feet were moving towards the house, all at once. It was a race between the two, and Shane had no idea who would win. Then, as quick as it started, it ended—Shane tripped into the house, slamming the door open and then shut, scrambling for the bolt to lock it, and Marnie came rushing out of her room to see Shane sitting on the floor of the entryway, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with fear.

*********************************************************************

Shane took a step back, wanting to get out of there immediately, but not wanting to turn his back on whatever was coming for him.

_Just a racoon. Just a squirrel. Just a—_

Then the rustling stopped. Shane froze as well. He held his breath.

Somewhere, on the other side of the farm, a whistle called out. Shane didn’t know where it came from, or who it was, or _what it was_ that made that whistle, and he didn’t care to find out.

With that, he turned and bolted, running as fast as his legs could carry him which, incidentally, was right to the ranch. Then he couldn’t go any further. He huffed and puffed at the door, his hand tight on the handle, attempting to catch his breath before going inside. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Marnie why he ran all the way here, since the last time that happened, it didn’t end too well.

The sun had fully set by this point, and Shane was standing in the dark. He was able to compose himself a bit and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Unlike the last time this happened all those years ago, Shane couldn’t actually confirm what exactly was coming for him—not that he could confirm what that was when he was a kid, either—but part of him felt a mild embarrassment creeping up as he stood there, contemplating if it really was just a squirrel, or a chipmunk, or a racoon in those tall weeds. His face flushed and he shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head.

“You idiot…” he mumbled to himself, his grip on the door handle tightening as he felt frustration boiling up within him, “You dumbass, you’re thirty-two-years-old and you just ran away from what? At worst a _racoon_?” He scolded himself under his breath, “Fuck.” He sighed and ran his free hand over his face.

Finally feeling less physically overwhelmed, Shane walked inside and shut the door behind him, steeling his nerves and his expression to not give anything away.

Marnie stepped out of her bedroom in her nightgown, a small smile on her face.

“How as your walk, Shane?” She asked him. She didn’t seem to suspect anything, surprisingly.

“It was fine,” he mumbled, his head tilted down as he began to walk to his room, “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

His aunt nodded, his smile slipping a bit, “Okay. If you’re hungry there’s dinner in the fridge. Sleep well, sweetie.”

Shane nodded as he stepped into his bedroom and shut the door. He leaned his back against it as his eyes slowly moved across the floor.

Beer cans, dirty clothes, clean (?) clothes, a pillow, his remote, a box of tissues.

He felt his eyes grow tired. Shane lifted himself up from the door and zipped off his sweatshirt, dropping it on the ground with everything else. He unzipped his jeans, let them fall around his ankles and stepped out of them, sitting on his bed in nothing but his t-shirt and boxer briefs. He averted his eyes away from his reflection in the vanity that sat parallel to his bed.

Leaning down, he reached under his bed and grabbed a ring of six beers, sitting them next to him. Tearing a can from a ring, he unceremoniously opened it, letting some foam spill down the can and onto his thigh. He didn’t care of Marnie heard him crack it open. He leaned his head back and took a large gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I make a confession? I'm debating removing Jas from the world in this fic. She's important to Shane's character, but I'm struggling to figure out where she would sit in this story. I guess we shall see!


	4. Agreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fuck" is said six times in this chapter.

Red eyes.

Those awful, red eyes.

Staring at him in the distance, between the trees and brush, camouflaged by darkness.

Feet rushing towards him, a gruffing and grunting coming from the source, claws digging into the dirt.

He tries to run but can’t. His feet are stuck in the darkness, being enveloped by the inky blackness. It feels so cold, so hollow. The running, the running, the running coming closer.

Then large, white canines. Warm dampness. The smell of copper. Wetness seeping down his shirt. It hurts so badly, oh god, oh god it hur—

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

“Fuck!” Shane shouts as the beeping blares into his ears. He rolls over and throws his shitty old alarm clock against the wall. It stops beeping as the batteries fling out of it and roll across the floor.

He falls back into his bed and stares at the ceiling, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his chest rising and falling quickly as he gasps for breath. The light is so bright in his room, causing his eyes to sting and water. It doesn’t help that he’s hungover, either. It takes several seconds to realize one of his hands is clenched tightly on the side of his neck.

“Fuck…” he sighs as he slowly sits up and moves his legs over his bed, letting his bare feet touch the cool floor. Leaning forward, Shane winces and shuts his eyes as he feels his stomach clench and do flips, “Oh, god…” he groans quietly, holding back vomit as he leans forward.

Opening his eyes, he looks at his floor through blurry vision. Clothes on the floor as usual. More beer cans, he thinks. No, there’s gotta be more cans, he drank a six-pack last night (and more…?).

Head throbbing, legs aching. His body aches from head-to-toe.

A knock at his door.

“Shane…?” Marnie asks. She pokes her head in his room and glances around quickly before looking at him, “I have breakfast on the table if you’re hungry before work.”

Shane doesn’t move from how he’s sitting; he just clenches his eyes more as she speaks to him. Not because he’s in more physical pain, but because he feels terrible knowing she’s seeing him like this. Disheveled in a room covered in his filth, his out-of-shape body on display in his ill-fitting t-shirt, his hair a greasy mess.

What a miserable existence.

He hears his door shut quietly without another word from his aunt. Letting out a loud, exhausted sigh, Shane slowly stands up—righting his balance as he feels the room tilt—and grabs an old pair of basketball shorts on the back of his couch and slips them on carefully to avoid collapsing onto the floor as the room continues to spin.

_Maybe if I fall at just the right angle, I’ll break my neck and end it._

Shorts on, Shane leaves his room, slips quietly into the bathroom, and steps to the toilet to throw up all of the contents of his stomach and then some. These mornings have been ritualistic at this point, even ceremonial. Wake up, self-loathe, put on some dirty clothes, throw up, eat a shitty frozen pizza despite the homemade breakfast, go to work, repeat.

Several minutes go by as he throws up and then remains there, leaning his head into the toilet bowl, the sound of water running through the pipes filling his ears.

While leaning over the toilet, his hands on the cold ceramic, the sweat beating on his forehead, Shane finds his mind wander to the farm from yesterday.

 _God, what was that in the grass?_ He thought. _It couldn’t have been that same thing from—_

The knock on the door this time wasn’t as pleasant as it was on his bedroom door.

“Shane!” Marnie shouted. Shane flinched and quickly went to lift his head, instead knocking the lid of the toilet bowl onto his head. Fantastic.

“Shane, are you done in there? I know you’re not feeling well but goodness, Shane, you have to leave the bathroom eventually!”

Tilting the lid back, Shane turned his head and shouted, “I’m coming! Just give me a second…” He slowly stands and rubs the back of his head where the lid landed.

Leaving the bathroom, Marnie is cleaning up the dining room table. All of the food that was there was gone as soon was it was placed there.

“What are you doing?” Shane asked, a confused look on his face.

“Cleaning.” Marnie states curtly.

“Uh, did you eat already…?”

“No, Shane, I did not,” she states, turning her back to him as she drops dishes into the sink loudly, “And neither did you, so I’m cleaning up this mess.” She turns on the sink and begins to scrub away.

Shane stands there quietly for a few seconds as he stares at the empty table. What is his problem? Why can’t he just pull himself together and act like a normal, functioning thirty-two-year old adult? Why does he have to disappoint everyone around him?

“Shane,” Marnie sighs loudly as she turns the sink off.

_Oh god._

She turns to face him, “You need to get help, Shane. I’m sick of seeing you like this. I’m sick of you _living_ like this.” Shane can’t make eye-contact with her. This hurts too much already. “It isn’t fair to you, but it also isn’t fair to me. I hate waking up and not knowing if you’re alive or dead somewhere, Shane, until I see you run out of your room to throw up. I’m so worried about you and you don’t even seem like you want to _try_ to get better.”

The room falls into silence.

Marnie raises her eyebrows, “Well? Do you have anything to say?”

His eyes are darting around. He hates feeling cornered like this, like he _has_ to say something to appease someone, even if what he may say is a dirty lie. He opens and shuts his mouth to try and speak but can’t find anything to say that isn’t just, “no” or “sorry”.

His aunt just sighs to fill the space.

“Shane, I’ve given you a roof over your head for the last four years, and what do I get in return?” She looks at him from up to down, “This. My nephew standing in my kitchen in filthy clothes, hungover, unable to respond to my pleas for him to get better.”

“I-I know, and I—” he tries to start, but is cut off. Ironic.

“This is your last chance, Shane,” she says as she puts up a single finger, “If you don’t improve yourself, if this isn’t your last drunken bender, you will have to leave. Do you understand?”

His eyes go slightly wide as he hears this. Leave? Leave and go where?

“I…” he utters, “Uh… yeah.” Shane nods, not even fully grasping that he’s agreeing, “Yeah, I understand.”

Marnie’s expression seems… slightly surprised. Why does she look surprised? Was he supposed to call her bluff?

“Well… good.” She stated, nodding her head, “Good. I’m glad you understand. Now, I have some chores to get to. Don’t you have work?”

Looking at the microwave, Shane’s eyes go wide.

“Uh, I gotta go—” he cuts himself off as he rushes into his room to throw on his work clothes.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Dressed and running out of the house, Shane rushes to work.

Fuck!


	5. Catch!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shane has a secret talent?

While at work, Shane strained under the bright lights while inhaling the terrible, overly filtered air of the store. It always gave him a headache and left his fingers feeling cold despite him naturally running very warm.

Sam was somewhere nearby, mopping up some mess he left after tripping over a palette of jarred goods Shane was instructed to pull out and stack on the shelves. Morris was, always, at the front of the store, eagerly waiting for some unsuspecting individual to walk inside looking for something mundane like a can of soup only to be convinced by him to buy some bizarre four-in-one product exclusive only to Joja.

“Yo, Shane!” Sam called from the end of the aisle. Shane lifts his head to face him and sees a can of something flying his way, to which the older man responds by catching it with ease with one hand.

“Man, how are you so good at that?” Sam laughs as he walks over. Shane just sighs angrily and places the can down next to him—carefully—and keeps stocking the shelf from the palette next to him.

Both a blessing and a curse, this knack of his. Throw anything at the guy—anything—and he will catch it with one hand and never, _ever_ miss. Hell, it doesn’t even matter how drunk or hungover he is. It’s not a trick anybody in the Valley knows about besides Sam, and even letting him know was an accident.

Back in the day this special talent of Shane’s was one of the reasons why he was so good at gridball—any pass or throw to him would be caught, no questions asked. He was reliable because of that. And it was a fun party trick, too. But now that he wants no attention on him—no unwanted stares or interest his way—he needed to keep it under wraps.

That was, until he started working with the colossal klutz that is Sam. And once the kid picked up on this being more than a few lucky catches, Shane would find himself having things _deliberately_ thrown at him to serve as entertainment value. Though thankfully it has only remained in Joja’s four walls and not outside of the store, so Shane doesn’t have to be a dancing monkey to anyone else.

Sam’s chuckling dies down, but that big smile on his face doesn’t. He continues to mop the floor near where Shane is kneeling in as he continues to stock shelves, “You hear about the new girl moving to the farm?”

Shane doesn’t even bother making eye contact with his co-worker. His knees are screaming, his back and shoulders are tense, and his hangover is leaving him with a dry, disgusting tasting mouth.

“Yeah, I heard.” He replies monotonously, clearly not interested in this conversation. Sam doesn’t appear to notice.

“You think she’ll be cool? Is she young?” Sam grins as he leans his hands on the top of the mop handle, propping his chin on his hands, no longer cleaning. “She inherited the place, yeah? You know when she’s moving in?”

Shane drops his head and sighs.

_Take it easy, Shane._

He lifts his head back up and stares forward at the shelf in front of him, “I have no idea, Sam.”

The kid still doesn’t get the memo.

“I think my mom said she’s moving in this weekend. It’s Wednesday, so what, Friday? Maybe Saturday? I doubt she’d move in on Sunday. Who wants to move on a Sunday?”

Shane knew if he didn’t shut this down now, the kid would keep going, and going, and going, and—

“What are you two doing?” Morris’s awful voice rings out through the store’s intercom. Okay, never mind, Shane would do anything to keep hearing Sam’s voice, “I hope you two aren’t dillydallying!”

“No, sir!” Sam shouted across the store as the feedback from the intercom squeaked. He leaned down to Shane, mindlessly pushing the mop around a bit, “I’ll talk to you later about the new girl!” He whispered harshly before slipping away.

_Kill me._

*********************************************************************

Thankfully Shane’s shift came and went without Sam being able to pester him any longer, mostly because Morris had a particularly massive stick shoved up his ass and forced the kid to clean every single shelf in the store as punishment for standing on one spot for over an hour and mopping up a 1x1 foot square of a perfectly clean floor.

Amazingly, Shane chuckled a bit at that as he headed towards the Saloon. Poor kid.

The warmth in his chest was short lived, however. It always is.

_“If you don’t improve yourself, if this isn’t your last drunken bender, you will have to leave. Do you understand?”_

Marnie’s words echoed in his head. They had been rattling around his skull throughout the day, but he forced himself to tune it out to as to not have a breakdown while stocking shelves.

Kick him out? Where would he go? The guy doesn’t even have a car he can sleep in, or enough money to crash in a cheap motel for more than a week. He could go back to Zuzu, he supposed, and try to get something there, but what does he do until then?

Or maybe he should stop thinking about the inevitability of getting kicked out and bring himself back into the present.

By this point, Shane found himself standing in front of the doors to the Saloon. For once, he’s paused there and not immediately walking inside and to his corner next to the fireplace. For once, he’s hesitant to walk inside and not eager to experience the quiet tranquility of a Wednesday night, slamming back beer after beer and feeling the comforting, then inevitable disgusting, drunkenness of the booze in his system.

He could feel himself grinding his teeth. An old, bad habit of his he developed after getting a bit too reliant on alcohol.

“You headed in, buddy?” A raspy voice asks him from behind. Pam. The only other regular in the place who goes to the Saloon with the sole intent of getting smashed.

“Uh,” he paused, “Nah. Nah not tonight.” He kept his eyes glued to the door and felt the heaviness under his eyes grow.

“Uh oh,” she chuckled, patting his shoulder as she stepped around him and began to head up the steps to the bar, “Looks like someone’s been put on a short leash.”

Somehow, the heaviness grew even more in those two seconds.

“Well, good luck, kiddo!” She laughed as she headed inside the Saloon, the door behind her swinging. The last thing he saw was the flickering image of the bar swinging in and out of existence until it was gone.

The tree frogs and bugs chirped in the evening sky. Somewhere, far behind Shane, he could barely make out the waves of the ocean hitting the shore.

He shut his eyes and took in a deep, _deep_ breath and held it in.

_One, two, three…_

After seven seconds, he let it out, his chest loosening and stars, briefly, appearing in his eyes.

_Let’s go for a walk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon that Shane is exceptionally good at catching things with one hand. Shout his name and he'll turn and catch whatever is coming his way and won't even flinch. The dead look in his eyes while doing so is an added bonus.


	6. CROW.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Har har. Hee hee. Hoo hoo. Caw!

Yeah, the last place he should consider going is the farm but for some reason, Shane feels almost magnetically attracted there; like his body and mind want nothing more than to stand on that property and come face-to-face with whatever it was that scared him away yesterday night.

His work sneakers crunch under the path as he passes by the old bus stop, long abandoned and no longer in use. Just as nobody ever uses the trail above Marnie’s ranch to go up to the farm, nobody uses the road to the west of town to go to the farm. And, Shane assumes, nobody uses the trail up north by Robin’s place to go south to the farm.

For all intents and purposes, that farm is an island all on its own, surrounded by a sea of dense forests that _nobody_ has bothered to deal with.

Upon arriving to the farm, everything is still overgrown (not that it suddenly wouldn’t be), and the place looks completely uninhabited and uninhabitable.

Yep, the place is still a shithole.

_This new girl has a rude awakening coming her way._

Shane stands there on the outskirts, hands in his pockets, looking around quietly. The sky is not growing as dark as quickly as it did last night, which he’s grateful for. Though he likely won’t cross the entire expanse of the farm to go south to get back home, even if it’s brighter out than yesterday.

So. That’s it! Nothing’s changed. The place is still overgrown, and nobody is here yet. Time to leave.

Right.

Right?

No, of course not!

Shane keeps walking forward, as if that magnetic pull is growing stronger. He knows it’s horseshit, though. There’s no “magnetic pull”—he’s just looking for a way to kill time before going back home stone cold sober, and what better way to kill time than by exploring an old, mysterious, soon-to-be-unabandoned farm where he had a terrifying experience less than 24-hours before?

Definitely no magnetic pull.

If anything, he can at least confirm that this place feels weird. Like there’s a dull electricity in the air that feels unlike the rest of the Valley. Maybe it’s the creep factor of this place, maybe it’s his unwelcomed sobriety. Regardless, it feels… strange, and like the night before, oddly familiar. Only this time he doesn’t feel _threatened_ like he did last night. The eerie familiarity in the air yesterday was coupled with a sense of dread like he felt all those years ago as a kid—tonight, however, the dread is not present, and he merely feels compelled to stick around out of curiosity.

After shuffling through the overgrown grass, he finds himself in front of the old cabin he saw last night. Finally seeing it up close, it looked… worse for wear, that’s for sure. The steps leading up to the front door looked a bit unstable and creaky, the storm door was hanging off of a hinge, the roof could probably use some work, and no doubt there was a nasty draft coming into the house itself.

Shane let out a breath as he rocked back on his heels a bit.

“This girl is really gonna take care of this whole place on her own?” he questioned out loud.

Seems highly unlikely. Or maybe he should stop projecting. He knows damn well he would never be able to take care of those whole place on his own—for all he knows, he’ll be pleasantly surprised in a couple months’ time.

Or experiencing just a bit of schadenfreude. We’ll see.

A gust of wind startled him as he blew from behind, pushing him forward a bit and slamming the front door of the house open. The storm door creaked and jangled in place, barely being held onto the doorframe by a single hinge.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, looking over his shoulder; not that there would be anything behind him to glare at. Just the overgrown grass, lazily swaying in the wind after the gust vanished.

Turning forward again, he glanced inside of the cabin as the door remained slammed open. His hands remained firmly in his sweatshirt pockets as he fidgeted his fingers.

This is weird. Is this weird?

Should he even be here right now?

Shouldn’t he be getting shit-faced somewhere, far from this creepy old farm, in the comfort of his own reclusive mind?

His brain kept shouting, “Yes, Shane! Just leave this stupid place! Why are you even here!” at him, but that magnetic pull was back, and this time, it was pushing him into the house. Into the old, dilapidated cabin whose door was just slammed open by a huge gust of wind from out of nowhere.

This is fine. This is completely normal and fine.

Without better judgement, he stepped forward. Slowly, slowly, up the creaky steps, careful to not bust a hole through the wood panels, and then onto the porch, and then even slower now, poking his head into the house, and—

“CAW!”

“FUCK!” Shane shouted as he stumbled and spun around, his back to the inside of the house now. A crow sat on the railing of the porch, staring at him. He thought he was going to have a heart attack, holy shit that was so fucking loud and scary and—

“CAW!” It shouted at him again, its wings flapping.

“Ugh, get out of here!” He shouted back at it, waving his arms as he took a step toward it. The crow screeched and flapped its wings wildly as Shane approached, lifting off the railing and landing on the ground behind it.

It remained settled on the ground, staring up at him with those dark, beady eyes. Shane glared at it, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

“What are you looking at?” He asked it, feeling his blood start to boil. It just continued to stare back and cock its head side-to-side.

A tense moment of silence sat between the two.

_Great. Talking to a crow._

Yeah, as if chickens are any different.

“Um, what are you talking to?”

Shane jumped, again, and looked to his left near the entrance to the farm and saw Abigail, and behind her, Sam and Sebastian approaching.

“Hey, Shane!” Sam called with his arm raised in the air, “What are you doing out here, man?”

“He was shouting at himself like a weirdo.” Abigail commented, her hands on her hips as she kept staring at the older man.

“What—no, I—” Shane began defensively, looking to his right only to find the crow was… gone, “No, there was a crow, and—”

“I didn’t see a crow.” Sebastian chimed in from behind in his low, monotone voice.

“Yeah, I didn’t see a crow either.” Abigail commented.

“No, I swear, there was—” Shane attempted to speak, but was cut off again.

“Yeah, yeah, a crow, big deal!” This time it was Sam, who seemed to be a bit out of the loop, “Anyway, what are you doing here, Shane? I thought you were usually at the Saloon?”

Suddenly with three sets of eyes of him, the older man felt himself beginning to tense up. His eyes were a bit wide as he felt cornered by these kids—why does he even need to answer to them? And why the hell are THEY out here?!

“I, uh, could ask the same to you,” he said, glancing to the side quickly before back at them, “What are you kids doing out here?”

“Oh! Uh…” it was Abigail’s turn to feel cornered. As the “leader”, or really, as the only person in the front of their little group, she felt compelled to speak up, “Uh, nothing. Ya know, just going for a walk.”

Shane grinned a bit. Good, now he has the upper hand.

“Just a walk, huh? At what, 7pm on a Wednesday? To an abandoned farm?”

“Not abandoned anymore!” Sam chimed in.

“Yeah, right.” Shane said as he shook his head.

_Play it cool._

“Alright, you kids enjoy doing, uh, whatever it is you’re doing.” He commented as he began to walk away in the direction they came towards the bus stop.

Finally, some semblance of normalcy has been regained, and Shane has come out _on top_ —

“Hey Shane!” Sam called out from behind him, “Catch!”

Shane turned around upon hearing his name and god dammit, there it was, that stupid can from work coming at him.

Yet another perfect one-handed catch without even so much as a flinch.

“Oh, shit.” Sebastian muttered with a cigarette between his lips.

Sam, with the biggest, most satisfied smile on his face, turned to Sebastian, “I _told you_ he was good at that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WEED. THEY'RE GONNA DO WEED.


End file.
